


All So Easy

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "If we sleep together, will I like you better?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	All So Easy

Anton straightens his tie as they leave the stuffy room, finished with what feels like the eight-hundredth interview of the day. The cuffs of his jacket feel too short and he tugs on them. The inseam of his trousers feels too long. He's a boy, desperate to fill out his suit.

Beside him, the other man accepts a can of Diet Coke from a handler, already engaged in two conversations at once upon exiting the room. The clean line of his throat as he tips his head back to drink, the oceanic undulation as he swallows. It's just all so fucking easy, isn't it? Nothing ever fazes him. And yes, he's older; he's done all of this before. He can deadpan his way through every endless day that awaits them. But it doesn't make it easier to watch.

He takes up a lean against a wall, the wallpaper's pattern rough against his cheek. He waits for someone to tell him where he should go next, to whom he should throw his next cheeky, casual smile. And then he feels him, pressed against his back, and he hears the metallic sigh of a freshly opened soda can. He takes it without looking back.

"So, what's your problem?" is the whisper. Anton feels flushed. He takes a sip of the Diet Coke when all he really wants to do is press its cool, silver gleam to his neck.

"I don't have a problem."

"I think you do."

And god, he's so fucking smug, as if his press persona will translate here. It burns in the form of a blush across the apples of Anton's cheeks. He can't be expected to keep his cool; he's only twenty, for god's sake. But this is all a lesson in being a man. And one day he'll be able to handle this, keep his jealousy under control -- the seething ball of envy that somehow evolved into antipathy when he wasn't paying attention—if only he could stop fixating, cease his boyish staring and longing and—

The key card fits neatly in Anton's jacket, like a plastic pocket square. The depositor's fingertips brush lightly over the breast of his suit, deliberate and trained.

"Nothing we can't fix," John murmurs. "Room 6-03. Hate me tonight and tomorrow we'll be friends."

Anton turns to surreptitiously watch him walk away, his ear so pink and warm that he tucks the can against it and hopes no one is looking.


End file.
